Why?
by bloodyXwhiteXrabbit
Summary: A little insight on Sebastian's Jonathan's thoughts about his life and towards his mother.


**A/N: now this was written when i was halfway through CoLS.**

**I just had to do this after the talk between Clary and Sebastian(Jonathan)  
Uhm, now if you have read the whole thing, you may find out that it is slightly OC :)  
BTW it happens after their first visit at Luke's  
**

**Song of choice: Open your eyes by Andrew belle.  
**

**i don't own anything  
**

* * *

**Why are you looking at me like this?**

I look up at you, quiet, while you stare down at me, **tears** in your eyes.  
Not tears of joy that you look down on your baby, but tears of **anger** and **disgust**.

"You are not my **child**" you hiss, clutching the edges of the crib and I can see your knuckles turning white.

"You're a **monster**."

I want to answer, but I know that it would** scare you**.  
I know that because my mind is fully awake, it would scare you even more to see your baby talking to you.

You leave as soon as you hear the sound of the door.  
Father has returned…

**But what have I done? Why do you hate me?**

When I was even younger, inside of your womb, you have kept telling Father that you would go **crazy** if I was a screamer…

I don't **scream**, but you still **hate** me.  
I don't make a **mess**, and you still **hate** me.  
I try to **touch** you and you **flinch**, not wanting to feel the touch of my tiny fingers.

**Am I a monster?**

You never show me to other people, afraid of their hurting words, but not to protect me.  
You don't want to hear the words because they hurt you, not me.  
How should I learn how to be human when you treat me like an abomination, locked away from the world, unable to experience emotions besides hate and disgust…

I don't blame **you**, mother, for what I was **when I was born**.  
But I blame you for **what I am now**.  
For all the things you have done and **didn't do**.  
For the things you ran away from and that happened while you lived your **happy life** with my sister…  
For father's **sorrow**…  
For father's **anger**…  
For the **hate** he felt…  
And most of all, I blame **you** for **allowing** him to** take it all out on me**.

**Despite** his words, **his pride** that he sometimes showered me with, I know that **he hated me**.  
I was the reason you had **fled**, and I was the reason **you'd never** be able to **return**.

But at least he was rational.  
**He forged**, **shaped** and **trained** me to be** a weapon**, devoid of any **feelings**.

And he **succeeded**.  
**I was** an **empty** shell, simply obeying his orders…

Until now.

When Jace and I became **one**, something strange happened.

Instead of becoming Jace's master completely, some of his **emotions** swashed over to me.  
At first I thought something had gone **wrong**, but eventually I decided that if two containers, filled with emotions did the ritual, it would have gone differently.  
Since I am **devoid** of emotions, ergo an **empty** container, some of his had found their way **into me**…  
It may be **embarrassing** to admit, but right after the ritual, as soon as we got to our hideout,** I broke down**.

For the second time in my life, **I cried**.

I felt the **hurt**, the **regret**, the **guilt** and the **pain** of **betrayal**…  
I actually felt again, for the first time in years.  
And for that, I both **love** and **hate** Jace.  
He taught me** how to cope** with the feelings and I learned** to hide** them again.

But when I met **you**, after all that has happened between us, **I felt happy**.  
I don't know **why**, or **how** I could feel happy, looking into your face.  
**You hate me**, and you did little to hide that fact when I was a baby.  
But when I saw you, I felt something I had **never felt before**.

A **bond**.

And that **bond** made me **angry**.  
It was **too late**, so I **teased** you, **hurt** you, tried to **push** you **away** by **pulling** you **close**.  
I was afraid of** losing myself**, so I **pressured** you to push me away** like** you **always** have.

And as always **you did**.

I think **unconsciously**, I've been doing this my **whole** **life**.  
**Pulling** people **closer**, allowing them a glance at the **wicked** and **rotten** side of me…  
None of them ever **dared** to come closer, but **fled me**.

And now, I wish for **someone** that **dares** to cross that line.  
To come **closer**, and see the** real me**, the one that has been **hiding** behind a **mask** of arrogance and mockery.  
A mask, that I was **forced** to create under the strict hand of **father**.

**I am not** saying that I am a poor **innocent** boy, captured in the prejudice of being **a selfish killer** because of father.

**No**.

I know that I am **insane** to a point, and that there is a **demon** inside of me leading me to do things most **can't** even begin to **understand**.  
And sometimes, I **like** the **insanity**.  
But on the other hand, I am also **human**.  
Which is really easy to **forget**, I think.

"Sebastian?"

The door opens and I turn my head to look at Jace who stuck his head through the door, looking at me with worry in his eyes.  
I sit up on my bed and put on my usual grin.  
He nods towards the piece of paper in my lap.

"What are you writing?"

I stare down at the empty page and sigh.

"Nothing, just notes."

Satisfied with this answer, because I said so, Jace nods.

"I prepared some lunch, you should eat."

I chuckle.  
In a way it is nice to have someone care about you, even if it's all fake.

"Go ahead, I'll be down in a minute."

He closes the door and leaves me alone again.  
I had intended to write down a letter for my mother, to tell her about me the way she never saw me.  
But among the many words that still haunt my mind, I can think of only one that includes all of them.  
And I am sure that mother understands it.  
I pick up the pen and neatly write it down, before putting it back into the little chest I stole from her.

When I reach the door, I hear Jace humming softly downstairs.  
I look back and stare at the chest, feeling a pull towards it, but I free myself when I feel the scars on my back burn and leave.  
If my mother ever gets a hold of that chest again, she'll find a piece of paper in it, with only one word written on it in black, thick ink.

**"Why?"**


End file.
